Forsaken
by emoprincessmikey
Summary: Where do you fall when you've hit rock bottom and they pull it out from under you? Certianly not up,the only place left to go to is the darkness...DannyFlack slash, dark, M for lang. and general angst.


**FORSAKEN**

**Collide**

"You know what Don? I can't take it anymore! I can't take it!" Danny shouted throwing down the manila folder on to the coffee table and standing up suddenly. "I can't go on like this anymore…you're _killing _me!"

Don looked up at him with hazy glassed over eyes, and he doubted that any of his words were sinking in past the alcohol. He shook his head, trying to keep the tears out of his eyes and his voice. "I can't deal with you anymore; I can't deal with what you've become!"

Flack snarled, "And what is that exactly Danny?" He stood up too, clutching the beer bottle tightly in one hand. "What have I become?"

Danny just shook his head harder, how did he even begin to describe what his lover had become? _How to you describe to a blind man what he is, particularly if he's intentionally blinding himself?_

"I-you're, you're not the man I fell in love with…you've become someone else, someone I don't know any more…" Danny stammered, "All you do is drink, here at home, at work… and don't think I haven't seen you. You pop that damn pain medication like its fucking candy…you walk around like a zombie…Don your not yourself anymore!" his voice cracked, "I don't know what to do with you anymore! I _try_ to help you, but all you do is push me away!"

Don looked away, unable to meet the burning intensity of Danny's gaze. It was the truth, he knew it, and couldn't form any sort of reply. The fog created by the alcohol effectively making him stupid and numb-just how he wanted to feel.

"You push me away, and I'm tired of it Don. I'm so fucking _tired_…" Danny removed his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. His head hurt, it was pounding like _he _was the one perpetually hung over, but what hurt more was heart. He really couldn't take it; being jerked around like this…it really was killing him.

"You haven't told me what I've become," Don said, his voice low, but his words carefully articulated despite his blood alcohol content ratio-which was at its usual consistent high.

"Impossible. That's what you've become, an impossible stranger." Danny replied, looking up into the others face once more, "The man I loved is gone…"

"Well you can thank Mac for that!" Don snapped finally finding words, "If he hadn't managed to ruin my life and my career I wouldn't _have_ to drink myself stupid to make it threw a day! I wouldn't have to be tanked out of my mind in order to survive the glares and whispering of my co-workers, the cold hostility of my own team, the wariness of yours…no one trusts me, no one…not even you!" the words flowed like a river, he couldn't stop himself now. "I've seen how you look at me when I hand you a file, it's like you don't think I can do my job-"

"You're _not _doing your job Don!" Danny shouted back, "I look at you like that because I'm the only one who knows for _certain_ your wasted 24/7! I'm just afraid that you're going to screw something up so bad that _you're_ going to ruin your _own_ career…never mind what Mac has done!"

The other detective snorted at him in derision, and rolled his blue eyes. "And he's done plenty…"

Danny threw up his hands in exasperation, "This is what I mean. The Don Flack _I_ know wouldn't talk about Mac this way! _He_ was grateful to Mac for saving his life…"

"Funny, he saved it just to ruin it later!" Don laughed coldly, "and you expect me to be grateful?"

"No! I expect you to suck it up and deal with it like a man, not some thirteen year old kid!" Danny threw back his voice rising to a new pitch, "But you don't seem capable of doing that. You run to your pills and your booze and your try and drowned yourself in them…well that's not going to work for long Don, eventually _someone somewhere_ is going to catch you slipping up…and you'll be done." He snapped his fingers emphatically, "Done. Like me."

And Don watched in silence as Danny grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. He didn't believe that Danny would really do it, walk out on him, but he watched in mute silence as he did just that.

Without so much as a backward glance over his shoulder Danny Messer made the hardest choice of his entire life. He left the shell of what had once been the love of his life, standing in the apartment that no longer felt like home, alone; to fend for himself. He told himself firmly that he no longer cared what happened to Don Flack, and that if he was bound and determined to go down in flames, he would do it alone- Danny would have no part in it; and he obviously had no desire to be rescued from them.

Danny had to keep telling himself that he had made the right decision, but it wasn't as easy as it seemed, and even as he slammed the door shut behind him he felt the acid hot tears begin to race down his cheeks.

Don stood for several seconds in the reverberating silence of the door. His blue eyes suddenly expanded in surprise and horror as the facts at last sunk in past the pleasant haze he had created for himself.

With a shriek of rage and despair he flung the half empty beer bottle at the door, where it shattered in to a hundred pieces where Danny had been just seconds before. Just like the past memories and any future hopes, the little shards of glass fell to the floor in to a pool of beer like a puddle of so much blood. Don crashed to the floor too; tears of his own falling silently as the emptiness inside of him at last became all consuming and the reality that Danny really did mean it this time- he wouldn't be coming back, ever.

**Eating Me Away**

That was the night that Detective Don Flack's life went to hell. _Officially_ went to hell anyway. In reality it had been a long decent that began ,if traced back far enough, went back to his less then happy childhood, but by general reckoning could be counted as starting with the death of Aiden Burn. Aiden had been a close friend and confidante, and her grisly murder had left him shaken and missing a part of his life that he just couldn't find a replacement for.

Her death had also been a nasty foreshadow for how the rest of the year was about to go, but of course at the time he couldn't see that. Life progressed at its normal break neck pace for a while, people died-some in accidents, some not- and it was up to Don and the others to find out the why's or _who's _in each case.

Yet once again work hit closer to home than was comfortable or right. Poor Stella had been taken hostage in her own home by her psychopathic boyfriend Frankie, sending the entire lab and its inhabitants into panic mode to help clear her of a murder charge in what was clearly a textbook case of self defense. Don had been the shoulder she had cried on while they sat in that sterile hospital room as he tired to gently coax from her every little detail of her traumatic experience. He had never once thought that he would be in that position, being strong for the strongest woman he knew. It had been hard, so hard, especially when at last the fear that she had been trying so hard to keep hidden broke threw in her pretty green eyes and left him feeling some how responsible for not being able to protect her, to keep her safe from Frankie.

They say that disasters come in threes, and Don felt that this was defiantly true, only this time it affected the one he loved. Danny's older brother Louie had been nearly beaten to death by members of a rival gang in their neighborhood after he tried to clear Danny's name in a cold case murder investigation that had once again come to light. Danny had gone hysterical, turned in to an entirely different person, and it had frightened Don. But he had stayed with his lover, in another one of those sterile hospital rooms while Danny cried and shouted and prayed into the night, holding him close and letting sob and scream into his chest. Never once did he think about leaving, not even when Mac gave him those weird looks, or even when they were allowed in the room with his brother and Don spotted all those needles. He _hated_ needles, and even as he fought with the nausea and dizziness he let Danny shake him and scream 'why why why!?' for over twenty minutes before he dissolved into tears again.

After that things returned to 'normal' for a time, or as normal as life can be when one spends ones day surrounded by death and the crazy people who cause it. Things were going well enough for him, especially at home with Danny. The trials had brought them closer together and had made their bond stronger on all levels. At one point in time Don might have been cocky enough to say that their bond was _unbreakable_, but that was before their greatest test.

He often looked back and wondered how a day so normal in everyway could go so suddenly wrong, and why Fate hadn't just stopped at the Rule of Three and left them all alone. But Fate preferred fours when it came to disasters, and unlucky for Don Flack that this time it was _his_ turn.

The crime scene had seemed so mundane, so blasé as he and Mac Taylor had followed the blood trail up the stairs; even the appearance of the bomb in the gym bag stuffed in the ceiling hadn't seemed that out of the ordinary. He hadn't felt that twinge of panic until after they had cleared the building, and that one last idiot showed up and insisted on going back for whatever the hell it had been.

Flack never did catch the idiots name, or at least didn't remember it if he had. Luckily he also remembered nothing about the explosion that nearly killed him. There were only hazy images of Mac screaming his name, of not being able to breathe or think or move, though he desperately wanted to do all three. The blackness enveloped him quickly, and it was comforting in its emptiness. He only had one regret as he had slid into the darkness's welcoming arms and Mac's voice faded away- he wished he had woken Danny up that morning to say good-bye, instead of just kissing him as he slept.

The memories of the months spent in the hospital were unfortunately much more concrete. Don hated hospitals, and doctors and needles; but what he hated most of all was being helpless. He couldn't do even the most simple of activities on his own, even after he was released almost two months later, still little better than an invalid. He had to rely on Danny to help him with everything, while he lay either in bed or on the couch drugged out of his mind.

Danny hadn't minded, he loved Donny and after almost losing him forever he was grateful to have him in _any_ capacity-even if it was in a skittish, half lucid, sometimes moody capacity. It had taken Danny a while to get Don to even let him touch him again, and even longer before his lover allowed him to even _see_ the terrible scaring the blast and subsequent operations had left on his body. The day Don had allowed him to touch, then to gently kiss the still bruised and sore area of smooth raised skin that was damn near as big as his hand, was a small victory for Danny, and also the first turning point in the soon to become rocky path.

The change wasn't sudden, it wasn't a jump or a leap, it was more like small steps quietly taken away from their customary lives. At first Danny attributed Don's mood changes to just being bored, it was almost six months after the 'event' that he was allowed to come back to the precinct for 'light' duty. But the changes stayed, even after Don went back to full duty, in fact they got worse. It really wasn't any one particular thing he could pin down with words, but it was little things that Don did or said, or as was becoming more and more frequent _didn't_ do or say.

The night he caught his lover taking twice the prescribed dose of a high impact painkiller he was supposed to have stopped taking moths ago gave Danny his first glimpse of the problem. Don had taken his questioning with well practiced ease, lying with what was becoming second nature, that he was only taking it because 'I wrenched something today chasing that freak down East 42nd, don't worry about it, I'll be fine in the morning.'

But that wasn't the first or the last time Don had dipped into his old friends the little Percocet pills, in fact his 'affair' of sorts with them had been fairly long standing. The numb-all- over feeling that they gave him was a comfortable state he had learned to live in, and couldn't live without. So long after the doctors had ordered him to stop taking them, he continued to do so first at the regular dose, but once his body had adjusted to it and the high no longer came, he upped back to the dose he was on during his first conscious week in the hospital.

He existed like this for a while, pleasantly numb, but increasingly harder to deal with. He wasn't sleeping or eating, which concerned Danny greatly, but most disturbing of all Don became anxious and more skittish then ever. He didn't want Danny to leave his sight, but on the other side no longer liked being touched or caressed and sex was out of the question.

His alienation of Danny was complete when he began adding alcohol abuse to the drug abuse. Not long after Mac demanded his note book, and forced him to turn on a member of his own team, it began. And as the investigation got deeper and the microscope of internal affairs focused more on Flack his drinking intensified. It started off as a Friday night release but it quickly turned into an every night binge then for the last month, a constant state.

Danny wasn't able to stop him any more; Don no longer listened to a word he said. He was almost thirty years old, and he would do as he pleased, and _no one_ was going to stop his high speed free fall into self-destruction. If he was going to kill himself with highly addictive drugs and alcohol in copious quantities, that was his business. Danny had realized that no amount of love, or concern or good intentions was going to bring back his beloved Donny if he didn't _want_ to come back…so it was better to break both their hearts and get it over with, rather than continue to live a lie. Though secretly Danny doubted that Don even _had_ a heart anymore, and if he did, he couldn't reach it, so Flack was as good as dead already.

**Cycle Down**

The weeks after Danny left him were the hardest Don had ever endured. It was worse than any day of pain he endured in the hospital, worse than anything that his collogues had been whispering just loud enough for him to over hear, worse even than the look that Mac was giving him at this very moment.

"Don, I just don't understand, this isn't like you at all," Mac said eyeing the lanky detective slouching in a chair across from him.

Flack snorted but didn't bother to comment, he was beyond caring about anything now. In fact he really wasn't listening to Mac at all; he was watching Danny and Lindsey Monroe threw the glass walls of the office. She was smiling and very obviously flirting with Danny who was reciprocating with a huge grin. He watched as his lover- _former_ lover- reached out and brushed a loose bit of the girls' bangs back behind her ear then lean in and whisper in it.

Don writhed inside, the little scene eating away at the numbness. He outwardly twitched as well, unwittingly confirming Mac's opinion of his guilt.

"Detective Flack, I really hope that this does not happen again." Mac continued firmly, "Unfortunately I will have to write you up regardless."

"Do whatever you have to Detective Taylor," Flack replied, his blue eyes cold and unfocused, "Its just one more nail in my coffin, and by the time I'm in it I won't feel anything or care at all." He stood up and cast Mac one last baleful look, or rather looked over Mac into the hall beyond. Danny was taking Lindsey by the arm and they were walking his way. Silently he left the very stunned Mac sitting in his chair and entered the hall.

He walked woodenly past the pair as they converged courses in the hall way. He refused to look at either of them, or even acknowledge that they existed. During the first few days and weeks following Danny's walk out Don had _tried_ to catch his attention to apologize. But every advance was met with a cold indifference so unlike Danny that it frightened him. When he did finally corner Danny at last late one night he had barely said two words before Danny cut him off.

"No Don, I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear how you're 'sorry' and listen to your lies about getting help or whatever!" he had cried harshly, "We're done, _done_! Just let it be…and move on…"

Don's wounded look cut him deeply, but he held himself in check. He watched as his lover swallowed hard and tried to regain some kind of composure. It was a battle, but at last his now customary mask of lethargic apathy fell back into place.

"If that's what you want." He replied curtly, before rounding on his heal and striding off.

Now as Don walked past Danny tired to catch his eye, or at least get a good look at him. He noticed right away the dark circles that ringed those gorgeous aquamarine eyes, he also noted quickly that Don's eyes were not that usual beautiful color but in fact one that bordered on grey, a sure sign that he was ill. His usually proud, clean shaven face was deathly pale, his high cheek bones were sunken and there was a fine black line of stubble beginning to show along his jaw line. His clothes were rather untidy and hung on him a bit more loosely then in the past. Danny suspected he didn't eat much, and really was to the point where he no longer gave a damn about his appearance, something _his_ Don Flack always was careful about.

_God Donny, you're fading fast…_ he thought glancing over his shoulder to continue to watch the Detective's progress down the hall and out of sight. When he turned back around he found himself face to face with Mac, who was leaning out his office door.

"Danny, could I talk to you for a minute." It wasn't a request.

With a sinking heart Danny walked into room, knowing damn well what Mac wanted to talk to him about.

Don staggered to the bed, as the room spun unpleasantly around him. He missed the edge of it the first time and hit the floor with a jarring thud, but he made it on the second try and fell face first on to the comforter. He let out an involuntary groan and rolled over onto his back. It seemed like it was taking forever for the Percocets to work, so he sat up and dug around in the nightstand drawer for the bottle, and popped two more-taking his total up to four.

The pills joined their other two brothers in his empty stomach to swim in the alcohol that sloshed around like an angry sea. Don curled up and waited for his quadruple dose to kick in and make the pain in his body and all conscious thought go away. He sighed heavily; the _only_ thing that the pills didn't make disappear was his heart ache.

Today had been a particularly hard day to survive, even by anyone else's standards. It had started off in typical fashion. Flack had over slept, woke up with his best friend Hangover, skipped breakfast in lieu of the half finished beer he found on the kitchen counter, and ran out the door to make it to the precinct in time to hear his phone ringing off the hook.

The first call had been Mac, the second from the D.A. and the third his father. The last one totally took him by surprise and threw him for a rather nasty loop. Don Flack Jr. and Don Flack Sr. didn't get along, and the only reason his father _ever_ called was because he was in trouble. This time was no exception, and after listening to his father rant at him about how his latest set of write ups for insubordination, going AWOL, and a handful of lesser things made him a disgrace to the family and the force; Don hung up and ran for the bathroom to chug down one of his secret stash of mini-bars to appease his hangover and his sudden need to deaden his mind entirely.

After that he had been walking inside returning from a crime scene (where he had almost lost the non-existent contents of his stomach) when he noticed Danny and Lindsey off in a dark corner of the parking garage obviously making out while trying to appear that they weren't. He had paused for a second to stare, to take it all in, then he ran-ran like his father was chasing him. He didn't stop until he reached the locker room and had tucked himself into a dark corner, where he sat in defeated silence shaking like he was soaking wet and wishing he was dead.

The rest of the day had past in an agonizingly slow blur, where all Don could think about was going home to his pills and his _new_ boyfriend Jim Beam. He ignored Mac's scrutiny, Stella's concern and Danny's obvious discomfort at being around him as he closed his final case of the day and without even bothering to say good-bye bee-lined it for home.

And now here he was, lying there in the dark, alone. At last the buzz was starting, rather more violently than usual, but he didn't care just as long as it worked its magic. He took a swig from the bottle he had carried in with him and curled up tighter, waiting for the oblivion to overwhelm him. Don wanted to obliterate the images of Danny and Monroe from his mind forever, he wanted that memory to burn, he wanted his whole life to burn.

_Maybe Dad was right after all, maybe I am just a failure._ He thought as the swimming darkness closed in. _Maybe this time…I won't wake up…I don't want to wake up…_

Out of habit Danny drove out of his way to get home, the little compass in his head instinctively leading him to the one place he _didn't_ want to go. As he neared the apartment building where Don lived, he began to mentally berate himself for being so stupid but stopped suddenly as an odd panic struck him.

He suddenly had an urge to see his ex-boyfriend, an unexplainable _desperate need_ to see him. Danny quickly parked and ran up the six flights of stairs to door number 604. He hesitated a second then pulled out his keys and unconsciously finding the right one inserted it in the lock.

_Stupid dumb-ass, _he chided himself, _You break up with the guy but you don't bother to take his apartment key off! What the hell is wrong with this picture!?_

Cautiously he opened the door to find the place in total darkness. "Donny?" he called tentatively, but there was no response. He flicked on the lights and was only greeted by the masses of empty bottles littered around like so many sacred statues lined up for some pagan ritual.

He moved quickly to the bedroom, his heart beginning to race uncontrollably and without apparent reason. Here Danny found light, a pale swath of it emanating from the open bathroom door and on to the dark hard wood floor. He rushed towards the light, tripping and almost breaking his neck over several loose bottles that were lurking in the shadowy depths. As he reached the door, he felt a crushing fear that almost made him turn and run.

Danny stepped into the bathroom, a despairing little sob ripping from his throat. "Oh god Don…"

He kneeled beside the prone figure lying on the white tile floor, completely expecting to find a dead body. Instead as he slipped his fingers under Don's chin he felt a pulse, and his own raced in answer.

"Don," he said again, gently rolling the unconscious man over and pulling him into his lap. He stroked the dark hair from the pale face and gazed down into it with an expression of helplessness. The little white tile squares around them were stained with vomit, which appeared to only contain alcohol judging by its dark color and smell. A tear ran down Danny's cheek as he wiped foaming spittle tinged with dark red blood from the corner of his friend's mouth.

The touch made Don twitch and his eyes fluttered open suddenly and he jerked upright and away from Danny with something like terror on his face.

"Wha-what….." he gasped for several seconds before lunging for the toilet and vomiting with a violence Danny had never seen.

"Don," Danny said softly and the other leaned on the rim of the toilet sobbing quietly. He gently put a hand on his shoulder, "what happened?"

"Why did you wake me up?" Don muttered.

"What?"

"Why did you wake me up?" he asked again, looking up at Danny with tears streaming down his face, he began to shake violently. "Why?"

"Because you just overdosed on _something, _that's why!" Danny shot back, "What the hell did you do?"

Don thought back for a second, "Oh god…" he mumbled, suddenly recalling his Perc binge.

"What did you take?" Danny asked with an exasperated sigh.

"Four Percocets, and a bottle of Jim Beam." Don replied his shivering increasing.

"Oh my fucking god Don!" Danny yelled, "Do you have a fucking death wish!? You're lucky we're even _having_ this conversation!" he couldn't keep the disgust out of his tone as he continued. "Congratulations Don Flack, you just survived your first overdose! At least I _think_ it's your first…hard to tell with you…"

"Will you just shut up!?" Don shouted back, "Just shut up Danny! I'm so glad your life is all roses and honey and that you're getting all cozy with the slut from Montana! Mine's not okay? Just let me find what release I can where I want okay? _You're_ the one who didn't want to talk to me, who told me to move on…well I'm fucking _trying_ to move on… but you just stopped me…" his voice cracked and broke altogether, as the tears continued to fall, and the shivering turned more to convulsions.

Danny was struck silent, he could think of nothing to say as he watched Don begin to dissolve in front of him. _Oh my god, what have I done!?_ He wondered, _What have I done to you?_ He wanted to reach out and touch Don, to comfort him somehow but could tell that he would never be able to; the damage was too complete, too absolute.

"Just go." Don hissed threw clenched teeth.

"Don, I-"

"Just go! Leave me alone, _move on_ Danny." Flack said again with more force and a dagger like edge to his voice, "_Let me be, we're done._" He parroted back Danny's own words, making them sound vacant and mocking.

The other man blanched as if he had just been slapped in the face. There was nothing more to be said or done, he realized, and for the second time he walked out on Don Flack when he need him most. Danny stood in the doorway a second and stared at the person he still truly loved, or what was left of him. He wanted to wholeheartedly say he was sorry, but he couldn't get the words to un-stick in his throat. So he wordlessly walked away, leaving Don shivering on the bathroom floor.

He had been so close, _so close_ to finally ridding himself of all those unpleasant memories and problems! Why had Danny just decided to show up and ruin his almost complete and perfect darkness? Why?

Don suddenly had a revelation, the perfect darkness wasn't going to be found in pills and alcohol, no, the perfect darkness he craved-had _just barely touched_ that evening -could only come one way. The pain and the fear and the heartache would only go away forever threw one act. It was so clear now, why hadn't he seen it before?

He knew what he had to do now, how he could escape the shattered remains of his ship wrecked life. And as he lay there alone on the icy cold floor, crying out for the person who had failed him yet again, he wanted to _die_-for dying was the only option he had left, his door into that perfect darkness that was waiting, waiting to welcome him in.

**Saying Good-bye**

For the first time in almost a year Don Flack went to work dead sober. The morning after his slight brush with the darkness he had stopped drinking entirely and had gone cold turkey off the Percocet. It had been hard the first few days, he had spent two days lying there in the bathroom crying and convulsing into withdrawal.

Now as he walked into the lab looking for Stella, Mac caught him.

"Where have you been Flack?" he asked, eyeing his pale face and his overly bright eyes.

Don jumped slightly at his voice, which echoed loudly around in his head. His nerves were jangling painfully, screaming out for the calming effects of the Percocet he was no longer providing for them.

"I was sick…" he replied honestly, though in all truth he still was.

Mac nodded and continued to study him with concern, "Are you sure you're feeling better? You look really pale…"

Don flashed him a genuine smile, his first in god knew how long. "Yeah Mac, I'm fine. Haven't felt this good in a long time."

Mac's right eyebrow shot up at this declaration and he watched Flack walk away with even greater concern than before.

But Don really did feel better than he had for over a year, for the first time since before the explosion his mind was actually clear. He had a plan and a purpose again, and it was so surprising how having those things changed his whole outlook on the world.

His outlook yes, but not pain. The pain had doubled for him since that night, that weird night that seemed almost like a bad dream. Don had actually wondered if Danny had even really been in the bathroom with him that night, but had received silent conformation that it had in fact happened when seconds later Danny came around the corner and looked horribly surprised to see him there-alive.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey." Don replied.

Danny stared searchingly in to his face, an instantly noticed that the haze that his lover had been living in for so long, no was longer reflected in his deep blue eyes.

"You look better…today," he said with a small smirk.

Don gave him a cold smile in return. "Thanks for noticing and the concern, though you seem surprised."

"Yeah actually I _am_ surprised to see you considering how bad you were the other-" Danny stopped as Stella approached.

"Hey Don, I have your results," she said perkily, not realizing what she had interrupted. She handed him a file with a questioning look aimed at both of them.

"Thanks Stell." Don sighed taking the file, he nodded to Danny, and walked off.

"What the hell is up with him?" The woman asked incredulously.

"I have no idea…." Danny told her, _but it worries me._

Even though Don had his plan all thought out, he waited another week before putting the final steps into action. He wanted all his affairs in order, he wanted everything in writing, he wanted his desk cleared of as many major cases as possible and most of all he the drugs to be entirely out of his system.

This was cool, highly calculated preparation; he didn't want any of it to be in any way affected by or fueled by the Percocet's mind and body numbing properties. That would defeat the purpose of the venture entirely.

Flack's demeanor at work hadn't changed enough to rouse anyone's suspicions other than Danny's. He watched Don from a distance at every opportunity, sensing he was up to _something_ though he just couldn't imagine _what_. After all, his friend _continued_ to get written up right and left, and manage piss off Mac and even Stella. He was cold and snippy with everyone just like before, but Danny smelled something of an act in Don's behavior, and wondered why. It drove him nearly to distraction for the first four days, and then he just decided that perhaps this was just another phase in Don's fiery tailspin and resigned himself to once again watching and waiting.

But Don was giving nothing away, he just chugged threw life the same as before, just with a little more drive. Today he had finally closed the largest case he had been carrying for over three months, a lucky break, an interrogation, an arrest; and now a guilt free conscience. The other five cases that were left could easily be handled by someone else, they didn't need his personal involvement and anything they threw at him in the morning, well those would have to be reassigned too.

After pacing his apartment for some time he finally steeled himself up enough to do the final task in his arrangements. He sat at the kitchen table and with a slightly shaking hand began what would be the hardest aspect of the whole enterprise-even harder than the act itself would be- saying good-bye.

Don hadn't meant to cry as he wrote, but the tears seemed to come and to fall of their own volition. He had to stop once or twice to dash them away and clear his pooling vision before he could go on. He also found it hard to express himself, the right words seemed to continuously escape his grasp, and he ended up writing several versions before he felt he had got it right. When at last he felt satisfied he sealed the envelope, destroyed the 'drafts' and ran one last time threw his mental checklist. Everything that could be done that night was in place, all that was left to do could only be done in the morning.

As he crawled into bed, and lay staring at the dark ceiling a strange peace settled over him. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant. _I'm coming, _he told the darkness,_ I'm coming…_

He had asked for a half shift for the next morning, claiming he had an appointment and would need the rest of the day off. His captain had given it to him without a single question assuming that this was just another one of the Detective's numerous doctors' visits. So at noon Don clocked out one last time, a part of his brain puzzling about what would happen to all his pay for the month, while the rest of it was totally consumed with the mission at hand.

He returned to his desk in the squad room and collected his keys, his jacket and the envelope. Looking around warily he took silent stock of who else was in the room. Not seeing anyone from his own team he made his way to Danny's desk at the far side of the large open room. Danny wouldn't be on shift until two, so Don had no fear of being caught by _him,_ but he had no desire to see any of his other co-workers and friends. This was hard enough to do as it was without the extra heartbreak of having to look Stella in the eye and having to lie and say 'see you tomorrow'. That would be too much to bear.

Don stood by the desk for a moment, lost in the tide race of memories that roared threw his mind. For a heartbeat he _almost_ lost the courage to complete this step, but after taking a deep but shaky breath he set the envelope carefully down in the middle of the desk and after a moment's reflection he removed his badge from his hip and placed it on top of the envelope.

_I won't need it any more any way._ He thought staring down at the gold shield.

The peaceful feeling of the night before wavered, and he felt the burning of tears forming in his eyes. With a disgusted snort he turned hastily away from his partner's desk and strode for the door. The yearning to look back over his shoulder was strong; stronger than he had imagined it would be, but he grit his teeth and pushed threw the door to the outside.

_It's done, and you can't take it back._ He told himself, _This is where fate has led you…see it threw._

He got into his car and turned off his cell phone, there was no reaching him now, no stopping him. He wanted no empty words about how he was being foolish, that he had so much to live for, how they could get him help. He didn't want help; he didn't _need_ help any more. He, Don Flack, would fix this his own way, they were too late now.

Don started the car and headed for the highway, he had a fair distance to go before he could be free, and he wanted to get there while there was still daylight.

Danny had come in to the lab an hour early. There was a ton of paper work he needed to have done by month end, which was in three days, so he figured there was no harm done by coming in and working off the clock for an hour. He sidled over to his desk, calling out greetings to various people as he went, in no particular hurry to get started on any work; he was a procrastinator at heart where paper files were concerned.

As he set his coffee cup down on the desk he noticed an envelope and someone's badge carefully arranged to catch his attention. He picked the two items up, and studied both closely. The hand writing on the envelope was sickeningly familiar and the badge number-

"What the hell!?" he muttered, identifying both as belonging to Don. _This doesn't make sense!_

He opened the envelope frowning in confusion. But as he unfolded the paper inside, his confusion quickly turned to dread, then to outright fear.

_Danny,_

_By the time your reading this I'll hopefully be gone, but it just didn't seem right for me to leave without saying good-bye. You are still my best friend, and it would be unfair of me to not explain to you what I'm doing and why._

_Yes, this is a stereotypical suicide note; we've both seen our fair share of them so we both know the kind of things that go in one. _

_You told me to move on, so I am, though not in the way I'm sure you imagined. To be honest this wasn't what I had in mind either, until the other night, when I took all those pills. I wanted to die, I really did, but you came and you ruined that. _

_But lately you've been good at ruining things, though I admit I did play my own part in creating this mess. I love you and I hate you all at the same time, and I wish that things could have turned out differently for us. I understand why you made the decisions you did, and part of me wishes I could just forget, but I haven't found the mercy yet. And I sincerely think that I never will._

_I just want the pain to stop, I want it to go away, I can't take living with it or the guilt any longer. I have failed everyone, myself, and especially you, and waking up each morning knowing this is just too much to bear._

_Please don't hate me for what I've done Danny, I know you don't love me like you used to, but please don't hate me! You took care of me for so long, and I am eternally grateful to you for it, I know I hurt you and it is difficult to forgive myself for that, it was poor payback for all that you did for me._

_Please tell the others good-bye for me, and that I love them. Especially Stella, I know she'll take this badly. And tell them that I'm sorry…for everything. I misused them all horribly. I'm sure Mac will be furious with me, but lately when hasn't he?_

_I do not regret this decision; in fact I look forward to finding peace within the darkness that is waiting for me, I felt it that night in the bathroom, and it was wonderful! That's all I want anymore to find peace, peace away from the pain and the shame, and ending my life is the only way I feel I can reach it._

_They say the happiness is fleeting in life, and I agree. I want to see the ocean one last time, I want to hear it and smell it, feel it against my skin. I want to remember things how they once were, happy and without pain, I want to go back in time. Not to change anything, but just to exist there. I want to be a kid again, the one who stood by the sea and marveled at how big and endless it was, who felt that nothing would ever take away the feeling of contentment he found watching those waves endlessly go in and out. I'm going back there one last time, and maybe for a few seconds I can be that little kid again. _

_I have and always will love you, I never once stopped. Even as I pushed you away a part of me didn't want to let you go. Please forgive me Danny, I know you will fight my decision and I know you really won't understand. But I have my reasons why, and I ask that you respect them and not interfere with them again. _

_This is what I want, and I just wanted you to know one last time that I love you and I am not afraid anymore. So this is it, good-bye my dearest friend. You will always be in my heart, and I'll see you again- till then…_

_Forever and always yours,_

_Donny_

Danny stood there for several agonizing seconds his heart stopped, his mind numb and unable to absorb what was clearly in front of him. Then suddenly like a lightening bolt it struck home, his whole body went icy cold and he couldn't breathe.

_What do I do? What do I do!?_ His mind screamed, _Oh god why Don? _ "Why!?" it came out as a strangled sob, and several people looked up at him with concern. Danny bolted from the squad room still clutching the note and the badge, and ran down what felt like endless hallways and corridors to Mac's office.

Without knocking he flung the door open gasping, "Mac, Mac!"

Mac jumped in surprise as Danny burst in on him. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, as Danny almost tripped over a chair trying to reach him.

"Its….its Don," he managed to stammer out handing Mac the paper. He didn't even think of the personal nature of its contents, he just wanted Mac to get the picture as fast as possible.

The older man read threw it, his grey eyes growing wider and wider with every line. "You think he's serious?" he asked.

"Without a doubt." Danny said emphatically.

"Shit." Mac growled, he had thought something like this might happen, but now that it had he was at a loss. "Do you have any idea about what he means by 'I want to see the ocean one last time'?"

Danny shook his head, "No, no I don't." he admitted with a jab of shame.

They thought in silence for several moments, both very aware that every _second_ they didn't know was another second closer to loosing Flack. Danny stood there clutching Donny's badge tightly in both hands, and wracking his brain. He never remembered his lover having a fascination of any kind with the sea -he was the consummate city boy-hated the out doors, and animals of any kind.

Mac puzzled over another line, "Maybe it has something to do with his childhood," he mused aloud, "He seems awful stuck on wanting to be like the 'little kid', he must mean himself…"

"He never talked about his childhood much," Danny said unhelpfully, "What with his father and all…"

"That's it Danny!" Mac said suddenly, picking up his phone and dialing a number, "Can I have the Commissioner's office please, it's an emergency."

Danny stared at him in mute horror as it dawned on him who Mac was calling. _God it's a good thing Don's not here…he would kill you for doing this…_

"I'm sorry about this Commissioner Flack; this is Mac Taylor over at CSU and I have a very strange question for you…It concerns your son," Mac said trying to keep the nervous edge out of his voice. He was speaking to the Chief Police Commissioner of the entire NYPD, one of the most powerful men on the force, who also happened to be Don's father.

"By any chance do you know of a place, most likely by the ocean, that your son feels is important to him? That has some special meaning, a place he would go to hide?" Mac had no idea if any of that made sense.

But the Commissioner answered almost immediately, "We have a summer home in Bayport, out on the Island, we used to go every summer when Don was a kid. He loved it out there, but no ones been out to the house in at least ten years…" he sounded so much like his son that for a second Mac thought he was talking to _his _Flack, "Why do you ask Detective?"

"Bayport," Mac hissed to Danny who instantly began calling up a map on the computer, "I don't wish to alarm you sir, but we have reason to believe your son…"

Mac's words faded out in Danny's mind as he looked at the map. Bayport looked so far away. "Two hours at least! In good traffic…" he mused aloud.

"And he's got an hour's head start on us." Mac added, "The computer says he clocked out at eleven fifty-five, and its one thirty now, he's got to be almost there." Mac sat back in his chair, and watched as Danny freaked out.

"We'll never be able to reach him in time! Not with lunch traffic here down town! We'd never make the Island before two thirty!" he yelled. His heart was racing, thumping against his ribs like a drum so hard it hurt. "We have to do _something_ Mac! I'm _not_ going to let him die! I don't care what he wants! I'm _not_ gonna let him die…_I'm not!_" The tears started to fall, and he didn't care if Mac Taylor saw them, nothing mattered, not anymore.

Mac stood up quickly and put a hand on Danny's shoulder, "We're not going to let him die, Danny. We will do our best to stop this, but you need to be calm okay?" he looked into the other man's face, "Okay?"

Danny nodded, wiping the tears away. He took a deep breath.

"Don't loose hope Danny not yet…" Mac said, pacing back to his desk. But his hope was already gone. He remembered how Don Flack Sr. had taken the news, quietly and without emotion, almost like he had been expecting it. It chilled Mac to think that any man, no matter _how _estranged from his son, could take such news so coldly. It was _killing_ Mac, and Don wasn't even his son!

But at the same time Mac was angry at Flack, he had worked so hard to save the young Detective's life in the urgent aftermath of the bombing, and it disturbed him that Don was so willing to throw it away again!

But he pushed these thoughts and feelings aside, they were getting in the way of his problem solving. He paced back and forth aware of the minutes ticking away and Danny's anxious blue eyes following his every move.

_Long Island. Too much traffic. Rush hour. Car no good. Train worse. Out of time. Out of time. _ Mac thought, he glanced out the window and saw a plane streaking towards J.F.K and his eyes lit up.

"Danny! I got it!" he said suddenly making the other jump in surprise, "Driving there is out of the question right?"

"Right,"

"So we'll _fly._"

"Fly?" Danny asked skeptically.

"Yes fly," Mac said lunging for his phone, "I can call in a favor and we can take one of the choppers….Hello, Could I talk to Lieutenant Ryan please?"

It dawned on Danny at last. Yes! A helicopter could get them to Long Island in like ten minutes, no annoying drivers and pedestrians who didn't know the meaning of flashing lights and sirens to get in the way! A little rush of hope surged in his heart and he clutched Don's badge tightly to his chest.

_I'm coming Donny, I'm coming whether you like it or not! I won't let you do this…I won't let you die…I…I won't fail you again! _

**Falling Inside the Black**

Like a preverbal Carrier Pigeon heading instinctively home, Don drove the less trafficked winding roads on the Island like he drove them everyday. The twists and turns of the costal road seemed as familiar to him as Broadway, though in truth he had actually _never_ driven the road himself.

As he left the City he had the radio on for company, not wanting to let the brooding silence that had followed him from Manhattan to overwhelm him. But when he had caught his first glimpse of the ocean, still a few miles off on the horizon, he silenced the radio and as he reached the stretch that followed the coast exactly he rolled down the windows so he could smell the salt and listen to the pounding of the surf.

The landmarks were becoming more familiar now, he must be passing threw the small town of Bayport. Don smiled as he passed the little grocery store, the tiny gas station and the ancient church that made up almost all of Main Street. Out in to the outskirts now, going by the little boat yard, the tiny little stand that sold live bait to the fishing boats that was fabled to have been there for over a hundred years, and a large private marina that he didn't recall being there ten years ago. He also didn't recall the huge outdoor store that glittered with disgusting modernism in what was strictly and old fashioned place.

After leaving the small patch of civilization, he had to rely on houses and cottages for navigation, each one distinct in his memory, and looking exactly as he had left them, as if they had remained untouched by time.

The road now downgraded from barely paved to gravel and he had lost sight and sound of the sea as he turned briefly inland. Passing the large white house whose name wouldn't _quite_ come to him, he now turned down a rarely used sand paved lane lined with trees. The trees were old and over grown, looking neglected and showing the less then kind passage of time and Long Island winters. The car didn't like the less then ideal traction offered by the sand, and several times it protested by spinning a wheel or two-or four in one instance, but Don hardly noticed as he crested a small hill and he saw his destination at last. A small house, that sat hunched in a clearing of pine trees that had grown much taller in his absence.

He parked the car on the once gravel pad, that now looked more like part of the lawn then a parking place and got slowly out. He stood there in the warm sun with his eyes closed, letting the sounds of the nearby ocean and smells of salt and pine take him back in time.

Reality slipped away for a while, before with a slight start Don snapped out of his reverie and moved towards the small house. It looked smaller than he remembered and certainly showed every year that had passed between their last meeting. The winters had not been kind, and as he stepped onto the porch that wrapped itself around the house, several more boards then usual groaned and popped under foot. Several chunks of the top rail were missing entirely, reminding him of a smile that was missing several teeth.

_Poor place needs some work_. He mused as he approached the front door. He stroked the outside wall, and a large flake of grey paint came loose in his hand._ If mom saw it looking like this it would break her heart. _

He sighed and pulled out his keys. He had owned a key to the cottage since he was eight years old, long before he got a house key or even dreamed of having his own apartment. It had always hung there on his key ring, with the said house key and apartment key and as he fingered threw them, the key to Danny's apartment.

_Oops, forgot to give that back._ He thought with a bitter smile,_ Oh well, he'll get it back soon enough. _

Finally his fingers found the key he wanted, the little old styled tarnished one and he inserted into the seized up lock. It took more force to open the door than Don anticipated and when it let go with a _pop_ he tumbled suddenly into the dimness. His eyes took longer to adjust then the rest of his senses and as he stood blinking the shadows the all too familiar musty smell surrounded him like a comfort blanket. Mustier perhaps than in years past, but it brought back a flood of memories that were twice as intense.

Slowly Flack wandered from room to room letting the memories follow him like so many ghosts. Objects and items stood out to him in each; the antique four poster bed in his parent's room, the shelves lined with old moldy copies of the _Hardy Boys_, Raymond Chandler, Poe and Conan Doyle in his own tiny little room. In the bathroom the old style claw and ball tub sat silently like a gargoyle in the gloom, and on a nostalgic whim Don climbed in to its grimy depths and sat with his knees tucked up to his chest musing on how the tub used to seem bigger than it did now. He sat there for a while, tracing patterns in the filth that had collected in the bottom since the last bath had been drawn in it.

Eventually Don got out, dusted himself off and wandered into the main room of the small cabin. He went first into the tiny kitchen, letting his hand trail along the counter top and cabinet doors, across the door of the prehistoric refrigerator and stove. He paused before the little wood burning pot bellied stove and smiled down on it, remembering fondly all the burned fingers he had received from it.

He sauntered into the living and dinning room, continuing to run his hand along the huge wooden dinner table, the backs of the faded, well loved furniture that ringed the huge fireplace that was the heart of the entire house. The peaceful feeling faltered once again as Don approached the huge stonework monolith and his eyes fell on the dozens of framed pictures that hung on the stones and covered the wide mantle place.

They were coated in thick grey dust, the years and years of memories; some of which predated him. One picture in a plain wooden frame caught his eye, and with a trembling hand he reached out and took it from its spot in the vanguard on the mantle. Don carefully blew the worst of the dust off, and wiped the rest off with his sleeve.

It was a picture of his mother and father and himself sitting outside on the dock smiling as the sun set behind him. He was sitting on his mother's lap and his father had an arm around both of them.

_We all look so happy,_ he thought, _that was our last summer here…_

He was nine years old then, and by the time he was ten his mother had died of cancer and his world had changed entirely. They no longer spent summers on the Island, his father became distant and a drunk and poor little Donny had been forced to grow up quickly just to survive. His childhood was gone, tied forever to this place; all his happiness and hopes were here.

A tear slid down his face and splashed onto the filmy glass, it was fitting that _everything_ should end here once again, in the last place it felt like he had ever been happy. A shaft of filtered sunlight came threw the filthy glass of the front window and lit the whole collection of photographs in orange light. It broke into the silent movie that was running on fast forward in his head.

It was time. There was no point in putting it off any longer; the lingering here was only breaking his heart further. He silently held the image of his mother to his lips, "I'm coming home Mom," he whispered before setting the picture gently on the table.

Don looked slowly around the small house once more, and then forced himself to leave. He locked the door behind himself out of force of habit, and because he didn't know how long it would be before someone found him. He didn't want anything to happen to his beloved cabin once he was gone, even if he wouldn't be there to see it if it did.

He walked off the opposite end of the porch, and down to the tiny remains of the path that led to the water. After one long last look back at the small desolate grey house, he moved carefully down the hill to the dock. The cabin had been built on a small rise situated well above the sea, and to reach the waters edge one had to climb down a treacherous and unkempt path to reach the lesser incline where the dock was attached to the rocky shoreline.

Don had no idea what he would find at the bottom of the trail, perhaps the dock had been pounded to drift wood long ago, and his whole trek would have been in vain. But as he reached the end, there it was, looking as weather-beaten and derelict as the house above, but still floating on the placid blue water of the sheltered little cove.

He ran the last few yards, ignoring the rough terrain in his excitement to reach the water. The tide was coming in and the huge rocks that lined the shore were quickly becoming re-immersed and the dock itself was beginning its rise.

Don charged on to the dock with a reckless grin, skidding to a halt just before he reached the edge. He stared out over the empty water and took a deep breath. The strong salt air stung his nose, as he inhaled but he hardly noticed. He kneeled down and plunged his arms as far up as his elbows into the still slightly chill water, and giggled like a child as he splashed water all over himself and the half rotted boards around him.

Then he paced around the wooden float watching the water come in and after nearly falling threw a particularly rotted spot decided that it was at last time. The peaceful feeling was becoming more potent by the second, and the Darkness calling to him with persuasion.

_Yes, this is what I want._ He thought, _I want to leave this world in peace surrounded by the sea…I want to join the darkness…and mom…and all the others I've lost._

He stood watching a distant sail boat tack into the wind to gain more sea room. It was little more than a white speck on the horizon, but as familiar to him as the taxi's in Manhattan. A small smile played on his lips as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out the large Bowie knife he had brought with him. It had been a birthday gift from Danny several years ago, a sort of a gag gift that had been part of a sick personal joke that made him grin even now as he thought about it. He unfolded the long, straight edged blade that was razor sharp and glittered in the light of the sinking sun and turned it over in his hands.

_Ha. If Danny knew what I was actually going to eventually end up using this thing for I doubt he would have given it to me._ He mused, stroking the dull side of the blade meditatively._But then it's ironic that he's the one who cut me deepest, and now I'm about to use his present to cut myself one last time…_

"How much farther?" Mac asked the pilot via the headset he was wearing.

"About another fifteen minutes sir," Lieutenant Ryan replied, glancing at the navigational equipment.

Mac sighed, his every sense on edge, fifteen minutes felt like an eternity to him. He glanced over his shoulder at Danny who was seated behind him. The younger man looked twice as pensive as he himself felt, and he felt a stab of pity for him. He recalled the personal details of the letter; he really wished that he hadn't seen them at all actually, but he had and its contents disturbed him. He would never have guessed that his two subordinates had been in a relationship, though in hindsight it _did_ explain a lot of things, especially the events of the last few months-Don's apparent disintegration for example had been totally explained by the note.

It still seemed odd to him that Don Flack would kill himself over a break up with Danny, it just wasn't like him at all, and Mac suspected he _still_ wasn't getting the whole story.

Danny sat staring down out the tiny window beside him, anxiously watching the City fade behind him and the land below him open up in to 'country side'. When he finally caught his first peek of Long Island Sound his heart began to pound race harder and faster, out doing its already current rapid pace.

He clutched Donny's badge so tightly it was cutting in to both hands and he held it between his two folded palms like a religious icon. Danny was visibly shaking, and was trying to resist the urge to rock back and forth as he silently prayed and worried and cried. He hadn't felt this way since that horrible night he sat in the hospital hallway, unable to be with Don after all most losing him, for fear of blowing their cover. Well Mac Taylor knew now, and Danny didn't give a damn, he just wanted Don back alive, and in one piece!

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!_ He repeated over and over again. _I'm coming baby, I'll make it right I promise. God please don't let him do it! If you're listening to me, please I'm begging you…don't let him do this! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I drove him this far, I'm gonna fix it I swear! Please God, just let us get there in time! Oh Donny I still love you! I love you! _

Mac heard Danny whimper and glanced at him again. His anguish was heartbreaking and Mac reached around and patted him on the knee. "Hang in there." He said compassionately, doubting that in his current state of mind that Danny even heard him.

_Please, please, please! Just hang on a few more minutes Donny, please I love you!_

Don held the hilt of the knife firmly in his right hand. He looked out to sea once more, and watched several small breakers come in and crash against the huge rocks out on the point, their white spray turning pink and red in the light of the rapidly sinking sun.

_Now for the last and final step. _The plan had worked out perfectly right down to this moment, and now all that was left to do was perform the final act. He was left handed, so he had figured he would use his right hand to cut his left wrist first, so that he would have the strength still in his dominant hand to cut his right one. It had seemed viable in theory, and now at last came the final test.

Don took a deep breath and with one swift slicing motion ran the blade against the pale skin of left wrist. The blade was sharp, so sharp, and cut deep, deep threw skin and nerves and veins- almost to bone with almost no effort. He bit back the sharp cry of pain that threatened to escape, and with tears rolling unheeded down his face he removed the knife from his right hand and took it in his trembling left hand.

With identical force of will and the same unfaltering movement he cut cleanly threw the veins and flesh of the opposite wrist. As the knife fell from his unfeeling fingers and the blood began to pour steadily from his body he gazed heavenward.

"Forgive me…." He whispered falling slowly to his knees.

The blood pooled quickly around him, like his own little ocean. The pain, oh the pain, it was strong but at the same time it was comforting. He had grown so used to pain in all its forms he now welcomed it, it was a part of him, and as it faded slowly away it was almost like he was loosing an old friend.

The sun was setting red over the water to the west ward, leaving a crimson trail of its own over the crests of the waves as they made their stately way towards the shore. Things were getting hazy to Don now, he felt dizzy as each beat of his heart sent his life coursing from his broken body. He no longer had the strength to sit up, and with a soft sigh he allowed his body to sink to the warm boards of the dock. He moved gently in time with its constant rise and fall and it lulled him deeper, closer…there it was! The Darkness! It flickered at the edge of his vision now, now becoming stronger with each passing second, with each passing heart beat.

_Come closer, come…please…_ He begged it. And it responded quickly. The Perfect Darkness he longed for was beginning to encircle him at last. It was warm, oh so warm and it whispered to him, called to him by name.

Don lost all feeling suddenly, but it didn't frighten him at all, the Darkness was here, all would be fine at last. The only sound was the roaring of his own blood in his ears, which he noted with some interest, seemed to _increase_ in volume, while surely the amount of blood left to rush in his body had greatly decreased.

But there wasn't much time to ponder on it, the Darkness was closing around him faster and faster now, time was slowing, each fading breath was bringing him closer, closer…

Don's aquamarine eyes expanded and with one last burst of strength he didn't know he had he reached up with his left had, reaching out for the velvet cloud that hovered over all, opening its arms to take him in and erase all his pain. He gasped slightly as it touched him at last, taking his body and wrapping it in its depths.

The roaring of his blood stopped, the gentle lapping of the waves fell silent, all light seemed to fade away entirely. This was it, the moment he had _longed_ for all this time, he was going to be free…he was going home.

_Good-bye Danny, things were better off this way…you'll see…in time. I'll see you again…someday…_

One final little sigh of absolute pleasure moved softly from his lips as he entered the perfect Darkness. His body went limp, his eyes went unseeing, and the hand that had been reaching skyward fell to the dock, dangling over its edge, the last of his coursing blood dripping from his fingers to mingle with the wine dark sea.


End file.
